Dear Bro
by deathofaraven
Summary: It was all Trish's fault. His brother was dead and he hated writing, but somehow he found himself writing the words, "Dear Vergil"...


AN: Old one-shot I found lurking on my com. Somehow it survived the great fic disappearance that was my flashdrive failing. I forgot how much I liked it, so... *thought she'd share it with you* Still not sure where I came up with the idea...random plot bunny, perhaps? The original formatting made it look much, _much_ better, though. More...letter-y. Anyway. Hope you guys enjoy it. Cheers!

Disclaimer: I don't own DMC. I'm a fan, remember?

* * *

><p><em>"Uncertainty is killing me, and I'm certainly not asleep...<em>  
><em>...Thousands were lost, maybe more. The question remains, what is this for?." ~Uncertainty, The Fray<em>

* * *

><p><em>Dear Vergil,<em>

_I've missed having you around, bro._

The sentence was scratched out until the letters were difficult to read and the man started again.

_How's the weather where you are?_

Snorting, he drew a line across the sentence, yet again, and tried once more.

_Look…uh…we haven't talked in a while, well, since the Temen-ni-Gru…incident, and given the day…I…thought I should send you something? I mean, what more do ya need in hell than a letter from your little brother, right? Not that I think you'll ever read this…._

_Anyway, just thought I should tell you I'm fine (makes ya real happy to hear, huh?) and…I don't know…I didn't forget about you or something? Shit…I can't think of what to write…Trish and her damn stupid ideas. Like I said…we're all fine. Well…Lady tried to shoot me in the head again, but…what's new about that?_

_You know…sometimes…sometimes I wonder what you're up to. I know from experience we don't die all that easy, so…I kinda don't believe you're dead. Well, not fully dead…yet, anyway. Do me a favor? If you aren't dead, and decide to pop up again…leave me a note before you do? It would kinda suck if I had to kill you just cuz you don't know how to give good enough warning._

_Well…I'm gonna…just go now. Bye._

_Your brother,_

_Dante_

_P.S._

_I've been thinking about mom a lot lately…and no matter what you think…it wasn't your fault._

Dante crossed out the postscript until it was even more difficult to decipher than the first two lines. He eyed his handiwork with a scowl, then ruined the irritated look by snorting and rolling his eyes. Sure, in his mind it was a pretty crappy piece of writing, but it wasn't like Vergil was going to read it anyway.

The youngest son of Sparda picked up an envelope, scrawled his twin's name across the front, and shoved the hastily folded letter in. He wasn't sure why, but this idea (to send Vergil a letter) didn't sit well with him. His biggest concern, though he'd never admit it, had to do with something along the lines of 'but what if he _does_ read it?' And no, it wasn't fear of having his letter writing criticized…it was of actually seeing his twin again. He didn't really know how that made him feel.

Dante sealed the envelope, slipped it in his pocket, and headed out of the shop as he dragged his red coat on. Mist and fog swirled around him as he walked, cool tendrils of it dampening his skin and clothes with miniscule droplets. It was interesting but his and Vergil's birthday always seemed to have bad weather. Maybe it was a sign or something.

The devil hunter made his way through the gates of a cemetery just out of town and went directly towards a gave near his mothers'. Though he didn't visit this one often (about once a year, if he was counting), it was surprisingly not as bad off as some of the others. Dante brushed a bit of dirt off the name, his fingers lingering on the cool marble for a moment, before taking off the lid to one of the closed, unused flower vases, stuffing the letter in, closing it back up, and walking away.

By the next day, Dante had managed to keep his impromptu visit to his brother's grave a secret (Lady would have probably teased him mercilessly).

He tossed a magazine onto his cluttered desk, and strolled over to the mini-fridge for a beer. It was a trip he usually made more than once a day, but what made this trip singular, was that something was different about his desk when he got back. He almost didn't notice at first.

Everything was still messy, cluttered. Nothing had been moved that he could tell. So why did Dante feel like he was standing near a live wire? Why was anticipation prickling over his skin? And then he spotted it.

It was a pristine little thing. A small white envelope with his name neatly written across the front in deep blue ink, sitting on top of a pizza box. Something about the writing was familiar, too. And it…unnerved him. It hadn't been there before he'd gotten up, which left the deliverer about a minute to get in, place it, and get out all without a sound. The strangeness of that made Dante stare.

He put down his bottle and moved the front of his desk, his back to the front doors, before picking up the letter and giving it a you-better-not-be-a-bomb-or-bill look. The half-demon slit it open and looked oddly down at the paper.

_Do not look behind you._

A chill went down Dante's spine. Those five words were…creepy. Of course it didn't help that a moment later, the front door creaked open.


End file.
